Last week my honey had to go to New York for business, so I tagged along. After all, I had to go to visit the great shoe Mecca. It’s part of my 2nd religion. (the first being Christianity, and the second being staunch Shoeology) Which reminds me, I bought a decent looking pair of low heel sandals to wear walking in Manhattan because (per a previous blog entry) I read New Yorkers don’t wear flip flops or sneakers. Incidentally, either I never saw a real New Yorker-entirely possible-or they really do wear the same type of shoes as me! So back to the sandals, they’re slightly more functional than attractive, and after the sitter made fun of my granny shoes, they got left behind. After all, being a born-again Shoeologist, I couldn’t risk going to hell for wearing ugly shoes, could I?
Vanity has a price though, and I paid mine when I decided to wear lovely kitten heel strappy sandals to walk in Manhattan, my feet developed the largest blisters I’ve ever seen on about 6 places. At this point, I was already walked too far from the hotel to think about going back for my flip flops, so I admitted defeat in Macy’s and bought a 2nd pair of slightly uncute, practical shoes. Then I hid behind a stack of comforters in the bedding section, plastered my injured feet in band-aids and donned granny shoes #2. The damage had been done, however, and I had to cover my feet in moleskin patches and wear good ole sock and tennies after that.
Warning: the adhesive on moleskin will roll, stick to your shoes, and rip the thin, delicate skin right off your blisters. Then the moisture from popped blister will seep, further removing the moleskin and subjecting blistered foot to full-on fiery pain.
It was in this pitiful state that I found myself (strategically placed myself to be more honest) in a situation where Christian Louboutins and Jimmy Choos were surrounding me, begging to be tried on. If you find yourself unfamiliar with either of these names, you are clearly not a Shoeologist, and if you haven’t lost interest in reading by now, you may as well Google them. I will save you the embarrassing details now, but refer to previous paragraph for a clear mental image of my feet.
I found a lovely, no, magnificent pair of heels that were dying to see Texas, and being the compassionate sole, I mean soul that I am, I affectionately made the purchase. Sadly, I was unable to force my injured feet into them when we went to a Broadway show, and I wound up wearing my little black dress with $10 Target Flippies. I attempted to wear some sexy red strappy heels (placed carefully over the bandages) at first, and toted the flip flops in my huge mama purse just in case, but I promptly made the switch when the pain became too much to bear. My evening clutch remained untouched in my suitcase along with the perfect shoes that Cinderella’s glass slipper couldn’t even touch! I soon as the swelling goes down though, I plan to live in my souvenir shoes...until I save enough money to buy them some strappy friends. It's not vanity if it's true love.
ps. I really love my Lord Jesus and my dear family more than lovely shoes for the record. But don't tell my shoes that.
As a fellow Shoeologist and also a recent visitor of New York, I can second several of your comments.
ReplyDelete1- I never saw a "real New Yorker" either if they are defined by their high heel shoes.
2- Some shoes look so lonely on the shelf at a store that is is your down right duty to take them home and care for them.
LOVE your posts :)